


AKA Til Death Do Us Part

by sian1359



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Christmas, Introspection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-11
Updated: 2012-12-11
Packaged: 2017-11-19 21:33:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/577879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sian1359/pseuds/sian1359
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil reflects on his love and life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	AKA Til Death Do Us Part

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Form 7370: Non-Standard Weapons Use](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/16044) by Cora. 



> Written for the Feelschat 2012 Feelstide Holiday Fest. Prompt #78: Christmas decorations/treats used as improvised weapons.  
> For what was supposed to be a pretty simply action confrontation, this ended up developing a lot of feelings.  
> Auburnnothenna once more saved my ass here in the editing department.
> 
> Now with an accompanying form designed by Cora see the link in inspired by...

 

Finally given the opportunity to sign the papers, thus putting an end to the over-long meeting, Phil said his goodbyes and headed out of the conference room.  While he knew it had been Clint's choice to come along, and that he would never blame Phil for the extra time the meeting had taken, Phil still expected to come out into the lobby and either see Clint sprawled down in one of the chairs, half asleep or, more likely, leaning up against the receptionist's raised counter barrier and flirting shamelessly or maybe trying to juggle the ornaments Phil had noticed were set out but not yet hung on the tree set up near the receptionist. 

Phil wasn't worried about the flirting. That was as natural as breathing for Clint around strangers, when he wasn't pursuing the opposite option of intimidation. Clint really didn't know any other way to relate to people; charming or scaring them had been what got him though his youth more or less intact – when he couldn't just be invisible.

 What Phil didn't expect as he approached the door into the lobby was raised voices.

"— not supposed to be here, Edward!"

"I have every right, you bitch! She's my daughter too!"

Followed by a scream.

Not thinking, Phil shoved opened the door in response to the scream and anger. He realized his mistake immediately, and could have kicked himself for such an amateur move, but he had no time to do anything but react again. At least this time, his training kicked in and he twisted to the side and shoved the assistant who'd come along to show him out back through the opening he'd stupidly created. He took in an instant's snapshot of the scene while moving to protect his civilian: Clint was indeed standing in front of the receptionist's desk but only because 'Edward' also stood there.

Clint had interposed himself between the guy with the gun – the gun now shifting from the woman the gunman wanted to harm toward Phil.

He didn't have to see what happened next to know how it would fall out. Phil had been Clint's handler for years and even if they hadn't been in such a situation before (but they had, many times), he knew Clint was never one to let a chance go by. Still, he felt glad to have the opportunity to watch, because Clint in motion was pure, carnal art.

Phil's sudden arrival drew Edward's attention away from the receptionist – and Clint – if only for a second. A second was all Clint needed.

With his right hand, Clint grabbed the bowl of Christmas candy sitting atop the receptionist's barrier and tossed it, sending the brightly-wrapped candy toward Edward's face. As part of the same motion, he pitched the bowl underhand. It impacted square against Edward's throat. Half a tick after the bowl left his hand, Clint bent over and grabbed one of the wooden ornaments with his left hand and pitched it too. In an overhand fast ball, aimed straight at Edward's gun arm, with a precision and speed that should have resulted in Clint playing for the Yankees.

Either the ornament cracked or Edward's elbow did when it hit (Phil guessed the elbow from Edward's howl) and startled the receptionist, who shrieked again. From his position aside the opening, Phil could see that she'd sensibly dropped down behind her desk, so she wasn't in any immediate danger.  Especially not when Clint followed with a second ornament (slower curve ball, a Sandy Koufax special) which hit Edward on the jaw. That was it, game over. The gunman – and gun – went down with no shots fired.

That was Phil's cue to enter. He waived Clint off to go look after his civilian while continuing forward toward Edward. Phil kicked the gun away and then knelt, ignoring Edward’s moans and feeble shoves as he patted Edward down. He ignored Clint's quiet conversation with the receptionist too, other than to note that she didn't sound too hysterical or ungrateful for the intervention, as too often seemed to happen in domestic disputes. Definitely a sensible woman; maybe someone he should look into as a recruit for the offices at SHIELD.

"Here," Clint said. He'd escorted the receptionist into the back to stay with Phil's initial guide, and returned to kneel down next to Phil. He held out a string of Christmas lights and had tucked Edward's gun at his waistband in the back.

"I was informed that Dulay Holdings' security personnel do not carry restraints or guns," Clint told him with a shrug that conveyed his thoughts on the usefulness of having security personnel that couldn't secure anything. "I figured this would make due until the cops arrive since we're light on the handcuffs and plastic restraints ourselves. Bella doesn't have any tie wraps in her desk. I asked." 

"Bella?" Phil repeated as he accepted the improvised restraints, unable to keep the incredulity from his voice. "Their names are Bella _and_ Edward? Really?"

Clint's smile beamed. "I know," he responded, taking Phil's place in holding Edward stationary so that Phil could tie Edward's hands behind his back.

The light cord did seem as if it would hold Edward. It was certainly better than trying to use the silver garland that was the only other available material to use as restraints if Phil didn't want to ruin yet another Hugo Boss tie.

Maybe he should stick to the Gucci; he never needed use them for restraints or makeshift tourniquets.

Edward, for his part, tried to intersperse a few curses between his groans until Clint accidently-on-purpose knocked the tough guy's head off the floor. Twice.

"Turns out Bella is short for Belladonna," he reported what he'd learned from the receptionist. "Her mom was into the whole Goth, Anne Rice, practicing Wiccan shtick when she got pregnant. Bella has understandably been unhappy during the last few years that she had agreed with her mom about Bella sounding more exotic when she was little and didn't pick the more mundane Donna to go by. She thought about changing it when the movies came out, but she's worked here for nearly six years and doesn't think the adjustment would go well. Maybe if she switched jobs."

"Indeed," Phil acknowledged, giving only a twitch of amusement away at Clint's transparent babbling. This wasn't actually a debrief, and even so, Phil never minded the extra chatter, as he knew that sometimes it was the most useless, stupid detail that could break a case or standoff (if never his composure, despite that being Clint's intention after they’d first started working together). Clint had been almost as good at breaking handlers as he had been at putting down SHIELD's targets before Phil had been assigned to work with him. Now, like so many other interactions and mannerisms, it had become a couple thing, an in-joke, and _that_ was still something Phil marveled – reveled – over.

He sat back on his heels, satisfied with his makeshift job of subduing Edward. He felt certain that Edward wouldn't actually try anything else – assuming he even could, given the way he was crying and cradling his arm – but Phil had always been a firm believer in better safe than sorry.  

"At least Anne Rice's vampires don't sparkle," he added with an exaggerated shudder, though the horror was only partially feigned. Phil and Clint had been tricked into taking his niece to _Twilight_ when it had first come out and had not just been the only two men in the theatre audience, but had also been the oldest viewers. By a depressing number of years. He understood it was worse now, with women _older_ than him in the audience and choosing ‘teams', but fortunately Courtney had moved beyond _Twilight_ , had become obsessed with old Hong Kong marital arts movies with Jackie Chan and Bruce Lee, and Clint could watch those endlessly, while Phil had fun pointing out all of the mistakes.

"Not unless you count Brad Pitt and Tom Cruise's teeth," Clint agreed about the sparkle. The two of them then hoisted Edward up and sat him down in the one of the visitor's chairs. They both stayed to either side, with hands clamped tight onto Edward's shoulders to wait for the in house security to show up and take over.

"Claire Danes scared the shit out of me in that movie," Phil admitted. "Too _Village of the Damned_ for me. The original of that put me off wanting kids and visiting quant English countrysides."

Once the security guards arrived, Bella explained her side of the story. When she showed the security team her visitor's log and Phil confirmed his employment with SHIELD, he realized  he and Clint wouldn't be able to relax their vigilance. The guards obviously decided, with only a nod to Phil and Clint, that SHIELD's involvement superseded their own. They stayed with Bella instead of getting Phil, Clint or even Edward's take on the confrontation.

Another, longer stare at Clint made it appear as if at least one of the guards – or Bella – had finally recognized him as one of the Avengers, which undoubtedly trumped even SHIELD as an authority in their minds. Phil certainly didn't mind; it might save him and Clint from having to go over their stories several times with the local LEOs (unless they decided the Avengers were vigilantes, not heroes).

He'd much rather talk movies with Clint over any form of debriefing anyway.

" _Village of the Damned_ , that's the one with the blonde kids that just stared at everyone, right?" Clint asked, his lighthearted tone at odds with the frown he directed toward the security and their inaction.  He still had trouble acknowledging his visibility as an Avenger after years of being a covert agent; Phil knew the deference or fawning that sometimes came with the recognition made him even more uncomfortable, even as it was inevitable.

 "The one that put me off kids was _Children of the Corn,"_ Clint continued. "Or maybe that was just because I lived with a couple of those cornhuskers during my years in the orphanage. Then there was _The Omen_ ," he deftly twisted the subject back to horror movies with creepy kids before Phil could remark on the unexpected orphanage reference. "I refused to talk to anyone named Damien until I was twenty."

Twenty, which was when Clint had attracted SHIELD's attention. Phil knew quite a bit about Clint's background before he'd turned twenty, most of it from the files SHIELD had composed when they decided whether to bury, eliminate or recruit Clint for being a too smart, too _good_ merc who had a bad habit of choosing to work for the wrong people. Clint had told Phil directly about some of it (more, he knew, to Natasha); usually only the good parts but even some of the bad.

For Clint to make an innocuous mention was even rarer, but he and Clint had been intending to go Christmas shopping after Phil's meeting with Dulay's Head of Research, and those plans had included finding something to send back to Sister Mary Louise, who still volunteered at the Waverly orphanage some twenty-five plus years after Clint and his brother had run away from it. Phil wasn't surprised those days were more readily on call in Clint's mind right now.

Unfortunately, it looked like their shopping trip was going to be curtailed (even if Phil had a list and a coordinated plan of attack that would have had them in and out of the mall with seventeen presents in less than two hours), unless they skipped lunch. Something Phil loathed doing and not just because the two of them all too frequently found themselves putting duty before food. If he was going to have to cut his time with Clint short for the cops, he'd rather cut the time he had to share him with store clerks, not the time set aside for just the two of them. They could always finish their shopping by using the internet if they had to. Doing that should also lessen the hassling Stark was giving them for not choosing to use the internet in the first place – or just handing everything off to Jarvis as was Tony's wont.

"I never even made it through _The Shining_ once those girls showed up," Edward tried to contribute to the conversation. "It's different when it's your own kid, though –"

"Shut up," Clint and Phil both said, Clint reinforcing the command by tightening his grip on Edward's shoulder and adding, "No one cares what you think, asshole."

Bella's giggles were almost enough to override Edward's common sense and say something more, but he backed off when Clint gave a warning bump to the chair. It just happened to jar his injured elbow. Clint only needed to do it the one time.

Their wait for local law enforcement lasted long enough for Phil to begin to also resent his need to meet with Dulay at all, as well as for Edward to regain his bravado and start ranting about lawsuits and brutality. Phil was sorely tempted to encourage Clint to even further violence and to participate himself if it meant shutting Edward up again. Better they both be arrested, not that he was really about to let Clint take any shit for his methods even if New York wasn't a Stand-your-ground state or fully upheld the Castle doctrine. Edward had come into the building with a gun. Edward – and the NYPD – were lucky _lethal_ force hadn't been used.

Fortunately for Fury's blood pressure, Bella took matters into her own hands.

"You stupid piece of shit," she railed as she stomped over toward them during Edward's most recent tirade.

Edward flinched and knocked his own head against the wall, though not hard enough to do more than stun him. Or maybe that was just from the fury Bella let loose upon him.

"Not only did you violate the restraining order, but you used a gun! By the time you get out of jail and have a chance to see Emma, she's going to be married and with her own child. Only I'm going to make sure she knows just who and what her father is, and if I can, I'll also make sure you're not going to ever be in even the same state as either of us, you fucker!" Then she hit him. Hit him with remarkable strength and accuracy against the glitter-infused bruise already rising from where Clint had nailed him in the jaw with the gold-toned ornament.

The threats Edward had started to stutter out caught until he choked on them. While his eyes didn't quite roll back, they turned glassy again and his skin turned from the florid red of anger to a greenish paleness not unlike the first flush of change that Bruce experienced in becoming the Hulk. If Phil had to make a guess, this was the first time Bella had not only hit back, but had felt brave enough to stand up for herself and her daughter in the first place. He was rather pleased at that thought, that his and Clint's actions had helped in more than just dealing with the physical confrontation. Clint, in turn, was giving her a smile of fierce pleasure, even as he stopped her from slugging Edward again.

"You don't want to hit him where there isn't already a mark," he explained patiently. "The first hit was good, but your hands are much too small to not be identified as the hitter. Plus they'd be rising after the rest, which would be a tell to the cops that have just arrived." With that caution, he gave a nod toward the shadows beyond the frosted glass walls that Phil only now noticed himself.

"You don't want to get arrested too for an assault perpetrated after he's been subdued."

Bella nodded and stepped back, but not before giving Edward a sharp kick in the shin that would definitely leave its own mark regardless of Clint's warning, but it was more likely it wouldn't be noticed right away as a new bruise on the face would. Not giving into the laughter as Clint did, Phil gestured instead for Bella to return to stand with the in house security, then shot a look toward Clint and tilted his head toward the door leading outside before lifting his hand from Edward's shoulder. Clint nodded and gave Phil a ‘better you than me' look. Someone needed to let the police know the hostage situation had been resolved before they found themselves facing guns again, and since that _was_ part of Phil's job description…

 

********

"Hey! Does SHIELD really have a Form 7374: Non-Standard Weapons Use; Christmas Decorations, Ornaments, or Trappings in lieu of Form 332: Standard Weaponry Use or Discharge? Or was Sitwell just shitting me?" Clint asked from depths of his closet. "And does it come after Non-Standard Weapons Use; Baked Goods, Confections, or Sweets or before a more general Non-Standard Weapons Use;  Food, Ingredients or Finished Products?"

As tempting as it was to ignore Clint, Phil wouldn't. He wouldn’t in part because Clint would just persist in badgering until he got an answer (or at least a reaction), but also because Phil didn't _want_ to ignore Clint. Because the whole point of them here, now, and undressing, was to specifically pay attention to one another.

He still waited until he'd hung his pants with the jacket, then added the tie, belt and his shoes to their proper racks so he could step out of his own closet to do so without raising his own voice in return.

"There is just one NSWU form, the 7370, although it does have addendums A through, I think it's up to J now, depending on whether someone used food, stationary supplies, small animals or things of that ilk in bringing someone down," he deadpanned as he headed over toward their bed. "So Procurement knows what has to be replaced and so Accounting can properly classify the asset and expenditure. Christmas, or more likely holiday decorations, will generate addendum K."

"I expect you weren't actually the first to cause the form or at least all of the addendums to be generated, but I bet you have the largest number filed in your name," Clint teased, coming up from behind  to hang his head over Phil's shoulder as he also enfolded Phil  in a chest-to-back hug. His hand moved immediately to cover what he could of the scar trailing down the middle of Phil's chest, an entirely unconscious move since Clint generally lavished much more attention on it than just a brush of his fingers. 

"So, would pumpkins fall under food or holiday decorations?"

Phil brought his own had up to cover Clint's. "I imagine it would depend on whether it was carved or not. Though in your case, it would undoubtedly require both to be filled out."

It had taken them both some significant time to see or feel the scar with anything other horror and regret. Now they usually treated it as a testament to luck and love; Loki's killing Phil had been the catalyst that brought the two of them together once Phil's life had been restored and Clint had come to terms with his guilt for having been a part of Loki's attack.

"And I'm beginning to think you take an unhealthy interest and find inordinate pleasure in my having to resort to violence," Phil chided, though not out of disappointment so much as embarrassment.  While he might appreciate the extraordinary level of skill and sheer artistry that Clint evidenced as a sniper or as an Avenger, he knew it wasn't his own skills that so turned Clint on. Or rather, it was, but from the unexpected badassery as Clint called it, not simply its – and his – competency.

"I have an entirely healthy interest in everything about you," Clint countered, nuzzling at Phil's ear before trailing his lips along the nape of Phil's neck. "Even Jasper finds the idea that you can take out a terrorist with a strand of tinsel and an ornament hook totally hot."

"Tell me that is not what you reported happened in your debrief with him," Phil asked without much hope. He turned around in Clint's arms so he could see the bastard out–an –out lie to his face. "If you say yes, I will make you not only fill out the redaction and submit the corrected forms to Hill herself, but I'll advise Jennifer Walters that you should go ahead and testify in court instead of just giving a deposition."

Clint's grin was unrepentant, his eyes shining with amusement at Phil's expense, but also so much love that even if Clint had given Jasper such a report, he knew he'd cave and help Clint clean up his mess, just to be with Clint instead of going off to do some of his own backlog.

The days of using paperwork to encourage better behavior or enact discipline on Clint were as far behind them as Phil's objectivity.

Clint shook his head and leaned to press his lips against Phil's. Nah," he said between quick kisses. "While I think there are new recruits who'd believe the rumor that you took out someone using just tinsel and a wire hook, I'm not sure I want to know which ones are that gullible. They'd be too tempting a target if nothing else, and then Hill would yell at us again. Which needlessly raises your blood pressure," he added when Phil would have protested that gaining such information about recruits unlikely to make agent might be worth a little yelling from Hill – or Fury.

No, Fury would agree those who _believed_ in rumors were better suited for the FBI or NSA, not SHIELD.

Still, Clint was right about keeping an eye on his blood pressure, Phil admitted to himself as he lifted his hand to hold Clint in place for a deeper kiss.

Not that Phil needed a monitoring device to track his blood pressure like Dr. Banner had after initially becoming the Hulk. At least so far. Not even when doing things like now, drawing Clint back to the bed to be better able to touch without worrying about becoming too stiff from standing or pulling something.

He expected that if being responsible for Clint's – or Natasha's – behavior could kill him, it would have already happened, most likely within the first year or two after Clint had brought Natasha into SHIELD. Or at that exact moment he'd realized Clint was trying to recruit her instead of executing the kill order. That had raised everyone's blood pressure, Clint's included though he'd played it and the follow-up investigations into his motives remarkably cool.

Just as Clint coolly handled dealing with the limitations imposed by Phil's recovery so far. Sex only came onto the table a couple of months ago – not actually _on_ a table or over a desk  no matter how often Clint so suggested –  yet Clint needed to do most of the work, even when he was the one being penetrated. Of course, Clint riding him was certainly a sight, one that Phil thought he'd never grow tired of.

Or now being able to touch everything that before, Phil had had to ignore to maintain his composure. And sanity.

On this night, Phil felt the need to touch everywhere, to acknowledge every scar as well as the skin unmarred to reassure himself and give tactile thanks that today's confrontation hadn't added to anything but memories.  He used lips and fingers, the slide of his leg; offering all of his gratefulness and love through every millimeter of his skin to Clint's. He got hung up, as he often did, distracted by the strength of Clint's arms. Those arms had  attracted and held Phil's attention from their first meeting; the flex and interplay of musculature when Clint was working was something Phil had told himself for too long was simply an aesthetic appreciation at best, or a necessary contemplation by a handler insuring his asset's usefulness.  Being able to touch – to worship – them now, or holding onto or being held down by them, could bring Phil to near completion even if Clint didn't otherwise touch him. Not that Clint often stayed passive and didn't insist on his own touching.

Touching, kissing, speaking in that low, sexy voice that still surprised Phil that he found it even more devastating than the tone in which Clint flirted with him over the comms…  pretty much anything the two of them did together or Phil simply remembered the two of them doing, brought him to full hardness. Tonight was no exception.

Phil was head over heels in love, a lost cause and every other rom—com cliché, not that he cared. Not even when Stark, Natasha, _or_ Fury took to teasing him. Discovering that Clint was just as besotted had done more to help Phil's recovery than all the futuristic tech or best surgeons that SHIELD had gotten their hands on after Loki had, to all intents and purposes, killed him.

"What do you want tonight?" Clint asked, indulging Phil's minor obsession with his arms by pushing up from kissing Phil's lips after each word.

Since sex needed to stay all easy exertion and low-impact maneuverings, the restrictions had encouraged the both of them to be creative. Not that everything they'd tried had worked. Fortunately, bouts of bad sex had led to some good laughs, something Phil appreciated as much as orgasms; both of which he felt that Clint needed more of in his life.

"Fuck me?" Phil suggested.

Mostly, the sex between them entailed a great number of hand or blow jobs. Phil still had to be careful with how long he worshipped or teased Clint's lovely cock with his mouth as he was still working on recovering his stamina, though at least the majority of his breathing problems had been relegated to bad memories, even if he wasn't quite up to deep throating yet. They had deemed frottage to be quite satisfactory, and Phil could clutch, kiss and cuddle Clint to his heart's content.

Something so much more happened, however, something comforting and almost spiritual, when Clint eased himself inside Phil's body from the prone missionary position. Phil had done his share of bottoming with past lovers and had enjoyed the intimacy, though he'd done so mostly out of a sense of fairness over preference. He hadn't expected his feelings or enjoyment to be all that different, even with Clint, when they'd first tried it. But Clint had been so caring, so gentle when prepping him, and then had lavished even more care and gentleness as he fucked, his expression one of wonder and a tenderness that Phil had never had directed his way, not even from his loving and well-loved parents.

Clint's depth of feeling for him had actually scared Phil and made him worry over whatever was the name of the psychological condition that could develop between two people when one had had a near-death experience. He'd wondered if Clint was really just feeling guilt and regret, was looking to find absolution, while he himself dealt with relief and gratitude and his own guilt over what Clint had not only endured under Loki's mind control, but then the weeks of everything before he and the other Avengers had been told that Phil had actually recovered from Loki killing him.

Phil had been scared, but also feeling selfish enough not to stop what happened between them or back away afterward.  They'd each first talked with Natasha separately instead of talking to each other and Natasha had then offered her own form of love by listening and then yelling at both of them, so he and Clint had come to the right place and understanding in the end. Just as they'd eventually done in every other aspect of their partnership.

"You with me, Phil?"

Abandoning his musings, Phil had only one answer to that question. "Forever."

 

– Finis –

 

 


End file.
